THE COTTESMORE IN 1826." 33 



thrushes, and any other small craft that can be 

 legitimately killed, at such a dull time of year. 



Thus he wiles away many an hour that would 

 otherwise hang terribly heavily on his hands. He 

 kills the birds that steal his cherries ; he enjoys the 

 pies and puddings that their bodies afford him, and 

 above all things, he gets the smell of gunpowder 

 which his medical man insists upon his doing for 

 the good of his health. I do not know that he ever 

 got^ as far in his love for guns and shooting as the 

 late Sir Richard Sutton did I mean the Sir Richard 

 Sutton who hunted the Cottesmore country after the 

 good old Lord Lonsdale's time, and who died in 

 1855. He was a keen sportsman in every way, 

 very fond of fishing, a first class man to hounds, and 

 perhaps the best shot of his time. He shot with a 

 flint and steel gun to the day of his death. I once 

 asked him his reason for so doing, and his answer 

 was, " I used to shoot with tubes, but I found that 

 in firing so often as I did, they made my head ache 

 and made me deaf : and, in the second place, I like 

 to do what other people can't." "Ah," I said, "your 

 last reason is the most likely of the two/' " Well, 

 then," he said, " I suppose you must have it so." 



He had the misfortune to get a bad fall, and broke 



D 



